


history will remember us

by reflectionslie (fallsink)



Series: loving you [5]
Category: Day6 (Band)
Genre: AU, Romance, greek canon? don't know her, modern greek lovers au, modified because I can
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-15 02:21:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14149830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallsink/pseuds/reflectionslie
Summary: legends tell of how history repeats itselfbut so does love





	history will remember us

**Author's Note:**

> fyi, the indented are summaries of the original myths, hopefully with enough info to see the connection :)

1.  **sungjin** ; **  
**

> ( _pygmalion x galatea_  — legends tell of how the great sculptor pygmalion loved no mortal woman and fell instead for the statue he carves of a young woman he names galatea, or “she who is milk-white.” aphrodite, the goddess of love, touched by his passion and faith, grants his wish and she comes alive in his adoring embrace.)

you’ve known him for ages, for so long that you don’t even remember how you even met, for so long that sometimes you wonder if your world had really begun with him.

maybe it did, because how else can those concentrated eyes and cleverly crafting fingers understand you so well? how he can notice the annoyance before it weaves between your brows or rub away the tiredness from your skin before it settles in your bones? or when the laughter is already spilling from his lips before it even leaves yours or the tears that you never need to explain? how he knows you inside and out, chipped edges and all, and still cherish every piece?

all you know, though, is how you come alive every time beneath his loving touch – a contact so tender and adoring that they almost feel like stolen moments from someone else’s life. hardly enough to satisfy the deep connection you both worship and desire.

so, when you settle down on your knees beside him at the pottery wheel, he immediately stops his work to cradle your face between rough, callused hands. you let the murmurs sand away your corner and feel doves take flight behind the broken bridge of your collarbones. and, beneath such adoring eyes, you don’t care that he’s smudging mushy clay all across your skin.

not when he’s the only end you could ever want or even imagine having.

“you’re my masterpiece,” he murmurs, fitting his breath and whispered words like filler into all the empty spaces, and you know it’s the truth.

because only with each other, can you be soft.

 

* * *

 

 

2.  **wonpil** ;

> ( _eros x psyche_  — legends tell of how psyche’s beauty was so unmatched that the even son of aphrodite falls for her and whisks her away to a faraway palace where they spend their nights together, forbidding her to see his face. however, he is woken one night by the wax that her betraying candle and broken promise, then he leaves, only returning when she completes aphrodite’s three impossible tasks to earn her husband and his trust again. thus, is the story of psyche (the soul) losing, searching, and finding eros (true love).)

he tells you that before you, his whole life it had always been him, just him. only him for so long that he became so used to watching others move in and out of the spectrum of life and most of all, fall in love. he never minded, though, almost preferring to play vital parts in many schemes and plots, and gleaning secondhand happiness from the joy their union.

yet he never thought of it for himself. finding love to him was more something he saw silhouettes of in the distance like hidden castles or gated gardens, though he also never quite believed in it – or at least something for him.

but after you? you are slowly teaching him over shared literature in secluded parts of abandoned libraries, playing hide-and-seek with meanings between lines and breathing. you are slowly teaching him the nuances and connotations of a language he had thought he was long fluent, realizing that only now is he truly understanding. finding how much he had been missing, only to discover them in you.  

you’re deep in more assigned reading when strong arms wrap around your waist from behind. without looking, you nuzzle back into him, knowing without seeing that it’s him, know him by his feather-light touches and piercing arrow-straight honesty.

“you’re my soul,” he whispers, his warm breath tucked behind your ear.

and you believe him, without a shadow of a doubt.

 

* * *

 

 

3.  **dowoon** ;

> ( _achilles x patroclus_  — legends tell of how deeply loved was young patroclus by the fiercest champion of the trojan war, that only with his death did achilles return to turn the tides to victory. of how he conquered with his fallen lover’s name as a battle cry so anguished that epics were born from those three syllables alone.)

from the first moment you meet him, you hate the way he smells. the scent of gunmetal, oil debris, and smoke from the mechanic’s lair always trails after him, despite his best efforts to wash it off after he’s laid his tools to rest. it reminds you of wars and destruction and a home that you can no longer return to.

but he takes great pride in his handiwork, and you do too. but more so for the way his muscles and brows knit in concentration like chainmail, his strong hands both creating and destroying pieces with the same ease. on the days the bronze sun is the highest, you pause as you pass by and envy the sweat sliding from his temples and the planes of his strong frame, wishing it could be your fingers instead.

he’s a fierce protector of his labor, but he lets you in, taking things apart during off hours to show you their inner workings. he even lets you use a piece of charcoal to write your number on his forearm a few weeks later, mostly as a joke, but his eyes are bold and fiery when he promises to return.

and he always does, even after all this time, without fail.

he sheds his jacket tonight and lays it down like weathered armor after battle, and tugs you close to his strong chest, proud nose burying in your hair.

“you’re my haven,” he murmurs against your temple.

it is then that you realize that you have forgotten the scent of soldier. everything that you hate, everything you can’t hate anymore because, beneath the scent of gunmetal, oil debris, and smoke, you have long fallen in love with the man.

so you gather him into the safety of your bed and your arms, and you find a home in him, too.

 

* * *

 

 

4.  **jae** ;

> ( _icarus x the sun_  — legends tell of how the son of daedalus so loved his freedom and pride that when he escaped his prison with his father on hand-crafted wings, he soared so high into the sky and tried to reach the gods. except the gods punished icarus by melting the wax in his wings and he perishes in the ocean below.)

“you’re my downfall,” he jokes, and you always understand otherwise.

everyone who knows him knows he’s born for the stage. always chasing the radiant spotlights, playing his part just as well as his guitar, brilliant smiles outshining all else. though he never quite gets used to standing in it fully.

he’s content, though, with letting you sing in the center instead of him, doused in the glory of the stage in its entirety. content with being the backdrop curtains to your production display. more than content, really, with sweeping you into his embrace after performances, both of you glistening and laughing, and him kissing you even more breathless.

it’s only at night, though, when the flashy daylight gives way to muted evening, when he’s the most vulnerable. furls his show wings against his body and sheds his performance face.

he lies with his head in your lap, long eyelashes fluttering. you’ve been together long enough that you know he’s now drifting in the loosening haze before deep slumber.

as you brush the blonde locks from his face, you wonder how the gods found it themselves to let something so beautiful leave heaven. to the world, to the stage, to you. and you remember him whispering in the secrecy of darkness that before you, his dreams have always involved falling – falling from grace, falling to his end, falling apart.

but now, with his even breathing and fluttering eyelashes like downy and vulnerable feathers, you feel a deep warmth knowing that – only with you – can he just fall asleep.

 

* * *

 

 

5.  **youngk** ;

> ( _hades x persephone_  — legends tell of how the haughty god of death fell so deeply for the daughter of the harvest goddess, that one day hades captures the maiden for himself. far below the earth and beneath a crown of jewels, persephone consumes six pomegranate seeds, each marking the months where she leaves her mother’s side to reign as queen of the underworld. thus, continues the yearly cycle of seasons, the passing of winter into spring.)

between inviting lyrics and seducing guitar chords, he reaps hearts with an effortless grace like shadows that follow the light. he makes sure no one can forget his name.

he collects people’s spirits even without his music with his captivating voice alone, and no one can ever deny him anything. not when he’s an irresistible addiction stretched over ringing bones and cutting jawlines. not when especially the way his scarlet lips move over lies, spinning them into truths just by speaking them aloud.

like incoming storms he takes, takes, and takes and steals some more with every tempting performance, until he reigns over an endless garden of admirers. and he guards these followers most ardently, for he is very possessive of the souls he keeps.

you’re the only soul that he could never capture or possess, and he cherishes you for it. for only you are his equal – destroyer, creator, and counterpart all in one.

only you could make him speak only truths with devastating honesty. only you could be his only exception to his enticing presence. only you could have him willingly kneel before you and press his mouth to your palm with more reverence and adoration than the collection of devotees he so diligently guards.

“you’re my queen,” he declares to the world over and over again, and you let him rest the glinting crown of black diamonds upon your head.

then you let him tip your head back by the chin and drink in the sweet taste of pomegranate dripping from his lips into all your spaces, binding you two together, to your promises and dreams, and to everything beyond.

 

_i_ _f we must rewrite history, let us erase our names._

_for i’d rather we be forgotten together,_

_than remembered apart._

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr original](http://daystring6.tumblr.com/post/172090613906)


End file.
